The first bolt came from Iven’s right.
Varric had not ordered a warning shot. The soldier aimed low, at the outside of Iven’s thigh, where a wound might stop a man without killing him. It was a sensible choice for taking someone alive and a dangerous one for the man being taken.
Iven moved his braced forearm into its path. Plate caught the iron head at an angle. The bolt struck hard, glanced downward and buried itself in the boards beside his boot.
The captain was already moving.
His first step crossed more ground than the ordinary push of his legs should have allowed. Bearing work: a sliding, economical approach with his weight carried cleanly through the turn. His sword came from below, aimed at the gap between Iven’s guarded arm and his ribs.
Iven sprang back and left. The blade cut the edge of his coat without reaching him. He landed beside the empty carrying frame, caught one of its loose straps and threw it across the open ground.
It was not an attack. It made the second bowman lift his aim rather than shoot through a moving object he could not immediately identify.
That hesitation gave Iven a step toward the free pillar.
